


Live In Between

by gleamingandwholeanddeadly (something_safe), printersdevils (tuesdaysgone)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cabin Fic, First Time, Fucking, M/M, Murder Husbands, No really it's just smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Post-Season/Series 03, Rimming, because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 16:09:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14572665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_safe/pseuds/gleamingandwholeanddeadly, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/printersdevils
Summary: They're on the run...and they find themselves in a remote cabin...with only one bed! WHAT WILL HAPPEN? (We all know what will happen.)





	Live In Between

**Author's Note:**

> We are in the middle of writing and editing a bunch of monsters (literally in some cases) and sometimes, there just has to be cabin fucking PWP. (An argument could be made for ALL times.) 
> 
> The title is from _Into the Woods_. One of us is definitely that kind of nerd, and will definitely have an earworm for the rest of the day.

They're driving a dirt road, barren countryside stretching out into distant hills and forest. Will steers with his fingertips, the other arm hooked on the lip of the open window, the setting sun making the skyline hazy. Hannibal is sleeping in the passenger seat. Will had been up most of the night making final arrangements for the safe house they’re heading for, but still had insisted on driving them. Hannibal had looked like he needed the sleep.

The thought makes him smile, just a crook of his stiff mouth. He glances at him and wonders if he's dreaming. He looks obscenely innocent when he’s asleep, Will has learned. But still so tired. Greyer over the few weeks they've been running, drawn and sallow in a way that Will sees in his own face in grotty motel mirrors. They badly need a respite.

It arrives a few hours later, when night has fallen proper and the white beams of the headlights cut through the dark forest. Will follows the GPS on his dash and fights a yawn.

Eventually, he sees his turning; a narrow dirt track barely wide enough for the car. He crawls along another mile or so until it clears, and then cuts the lights. For a moment, complete blackness, and then he spots the faint flicker of solar powered garden lights.

Well, this place is as remote as Hannibal’s contact promised. Will gets a flashlight out of his bag and gently rouses Hannibal with a hand on his knee.

“We’re here.” He's alert at once. Will turns on the flashlight and shows him they're safe. "Come on, let's go inside."

“All right.” He pushes himself up from the seat, moving a bit stiffly, and leans into the back to retrieve a bag. Slowly, they get out of the car and unsteadily walk the path up to the cabin. At the porch, Hannibal stops.

Will stops too, frowning. Hannibal's expression is almost perfectly blank, but Will sees a single marker of displeasure in the way he holds himself.

“What’s wrong?” Will says, reaching for his knife.

"Nothing. It's... quaint," Hannibal mutters.

It resembles Molly’s house. Hannibal has no way of knowing that, of course, but he seems to sense it.

"It's better than your cop trap back in Greece."

“We knew that wouldn’t last long.”

"This will last longer. Come inside, it's freezing out here." He takes Hannibal’s elbow.

With visible reluctance, Hannibal lets him steer him inside. It’s shabby, yes, but it appears well stocked. Will sets about lighting a fire as Hannibal moves around the small space. He tries not to watch, but it’s tight quarters. That more than anything else makes Will miss Greece.

Hannibal peers up the rickety open-plan steps to the mezzanine bedroom. Will can see him anticipating sleepy accidents- probably not from himself: Will has never seen him so much as stumble.

He confirms it when he says coolly, “A broken neck at this point would be a shame.”

"You can sleep down here if you want."

Hannibal’s eyes meet his, with a spark in them. He barely needs to say it, but he does. “I will sleep beside you, Will.”

It's something they've grown accustomed to, without a word. Crushed up together in hotel rooms, train cabins. Will thought it would bother him. It never has.

"You'll have to watch your neck on the stairs then."

“We’ve both fallen from greater heights,” Hannibal murmurs.

Will stokes the rising fire and draws back to give it some air, standing. In the still, shadowy quiet, Hannibal is suddenly close again. His want is tangible, curling through the air and finding a mark in Will. They should do searches- make sure everywhere is safe. Will suddenly just wants to have just one night of normality- besides, anyone foolhardy enough to ambush them will find themselves very sorry indeed.

He sighs, rolling his neck to alleviate some of the tension there.

“Are you hungry, Will?”

"We should eat.”

“I'll make something." Hannibal casts a dubious look toward the kitchen.

“I’ll help.” Will touches his wrist, fingers curling. Hannibal always touched him easily, but he's always visibly surprised by Will returning the gesture. He stiffens a bit now, then relaxes; squeezes Will's shoulder gently.

"Thank you. Come, the sooner we eat, the sooner we can sleep."

Will won’t deny, in the privacy of his own mind, that he likes knowing Hannibal still occasionally expects violence. He is personally careful not to forget what they are, any given day. Sometimes, it’s a comfort to him. Occasionally an inconvenience.

In the kitchen, Hannibal produces what he deems acceptable from the fridge and rummages for pans. Behind him, Will starts water for tea, following the routine with only a little fumbling in the new kitchen. On their travels, they've found that buying tea is less offensive than subjecting themselves to hotel coffee, and a cup of an evening has become habit. Hannibal likes chai. Will carries the box in his backpack like first aid. Maybe it is. Hannibal’s shoulders slump slightly when he sees it.

"Thank you, Will," he murmurs as he passes it over. Will stays close, and Hannibal doesn't move away while he takes a sip. He hands the cup back to Will, and they share it silently. Will’s mug sits empty on the counter.

Hannibal turns his attention to dinner. Will leans against his back and Hannibal lets him stay there, content as anything. Hannibal’s scent and warmth and the feel of the fabric of his clothing have become as familiar as his own. Comfort seems like too much to ask, and so it's only fitting that Will should find it here.

He sighs and pulls away finally, to set the table. He’s aware that if he were alone, he’d be eating over the sink. He’s aware that if he were alone, he wouldn’t be here at all. He'd be with Molly, he realizes, and the thought of her makes a space in his core ache: guilt and regret. Maine feels like a century ago, like he’s lived lifetimes in between. And he has- tourist, husband, friend, business partner- what feels like a hundred roles, all with Hannibal, all of them an easy extension of their distinctly uneasy partnership. Will feels a rush of something unnamable and warm for him: never could he have conjured himself a worthier adversary, even from his nightmares.

He’s still an adversary, even now. Even with his - love - hanging over them both, unspoken but deeply known. Will feels it in his gut like Hannibal's knife. It cuts him daily, a burrowing, squirming thing. Tonight, it's sharp and alive. It’s a third inhabitant in this cabin that is already too small for two.

Behind him, Hannibal finds plates in a cupboard and serves dinner, bringing it to the table. He goes back for the tea, and takes another sip, handing it to Will before they take their seats at the table. Hannibal’s table manners are as perfect as ever. He never changes in this.

"I think we should try and stay here for a while if we can," Will says, after the first few bites of his meal has stifled some of the starving nausea in him.

Unsurprisingly, Hannibal looks dissatisfied, but he doesn’t disagree.

"We can't keep hiking across the world staying in goddamn castles." Will wants to sound firm, but it comes out apologetic.

“I am aware,” Hannibal murmurs.

"This is just temporary," Will says. It still feels like an apology. He means it, is the worst part.

Hannibal meets his gaze across the table.

"I have endured much less desirable conditions."

Will doesn’t look away.

“So have I.”

"And here we are, free and whole and together," Hannibal says, "nothing undesirable about it." There it is again, that fearful fondness.

"Nothing undesirable about it," Will repeats, and finds that it's true.

This time it’s Hannibal who touches him. His hand covers Will's wrist fleetingly. It only lights a fire behind Will’s breastbone.

They finish up dinner in relative quiet. After clean up, Will excuses himself to shower, and when he emerges in his towel Hannibal is by the fire. He’s not reading or sketching, merely watching the flames. Will would be concerned if he didn't know Hannibal by now.

"The cabin bothers you for more than just aesthetic reasons. Going to tell me what they are?" He goes to kneel beside him.

“When I was young,” Hannibal murmurs after a long pause, “we lived for a time in a cottage much like it.”

A cold thread of panic goes through Will. They’ve come too far for Hannibal to delve that deep into his past. Will’s been there, too, even more recently, and he didn’t emerge unscathed.

"I didn't realize," he murmurs. Again, it's an apology.

Hannibal finally looks at him. And looks. And says, “Come sit by the fire to dry your hair.”

Will does. Hannibal pats the rug beside him and Will shifts obligingly closer.

"We spend a lot of time finding ways to wound one another, literal and physical," Will murmurs, "but I promise this wasn't one of those ways I conjured."

“I would never have imagined that, Will.”

"Good because- I don't want that right now."

Hannibal pushes his hair behind his ear. “Neither do I.”

The touch startles Will this time- it's not the first, none of this is the first, but it's new now - not a way to control one another. Will’s too tired for mental jousting; even his shower had seemed to drain energy rather than restore it, so it’s probably for the best.

Hannibal's fingertips follow over his brows, down the bridge of his nose, mapping. Will closes his eyes and lets him, fascinated as ever by each new glimpse of Hannibal's many facets. He’s being gentle. That isn't, precisely, new. Not even for them. But it is unusual. At least the want Will feels is.

As ever, he has no idea how to express it.

He opens his eyes and Hannibal is watching him, expression irrepressibly fond. Will feels his nakedness in a way that hasn’t often occurred to him since the fall; not after all their injuries and the length of their convalescence. Hannibal's hand trails down his bare chest now, mindful of his wounds. They’re still pink and tender, as are, he knows, Hannibal’s own. He sighs at the touch. He knows what’s happening, feels the inevitability like a hand on the back of his neck.

“Why now?” he murmurs.

"It doesn't have to be now."

Hannibal means it, he thinks. Will swallows, and touches his hand, keeping it against his chest.

"I think it does. But you didn’t answer my question.”

Hannibal shrugs. "I've spent a long time not touching you. I dislike denying myself."

 _That checks out,_ Will thinks with a sigh.

Hannibal measures him with his gaze, and then quietly adds, "You have never faltered from my touch. Not even when I cut you."

“No, I haven’t.” He can still feel the phantom pain at the mention of it, fire in his belly. After a while, he shrugs. "I always liked it. You're so selective with it. It felt good to be... exceptional, in some small way."

Hannibal’s other hand cups his cheek and he sighs again.

“You are exceptional in every way, as you well know.”

Will turns his face away from the words and into Hannibal's hand. He squeezes the one on his chest, measuring his feelings, finding them unrecognizably good, overall. It’s enough. It’s more than enough to convince him.

"You're more yourself here than I've known you to be since you came to see me, Will," Hannibal murmurs, "I see shadows of you sometimes - but the last few days, it's like you've emerged from wherever you'd hidden yourself away."

It’s because Hannibal had needed him. Still needs him, if his exhausted face is anything to go by. He bites his lip.

"It felt safe to come back, I guess."

“It is,” Hannibal murmurs.

Will closes his eyes and nods. "Safe for you too."

Hannibal nods. “With you by my side.”

"I'm not going anywhere." Will opens his eyes again, looking into Hannibal’s molten gold gaze. His hand flattens against Will's cheek; draws him in.

The kiss that follows is soft and endless. Will isn't the one who has been locked away but he feels starved for the touch, gripping Hannibal back and drinking in the feeling of him; the taste. He’s needed, but he’s also wanted.

Hannibal pushes himself gently forward, and Will goes down, the rug against his back and Hannibal searing heat against his front as the kiss deepens. Every move they make is careful, their injuries still fresh in both their minds. Will touches Hannibal's flanks almost protectively, holding him up, and Hannibal keeps his weight off of Will’s shoulder. He wants it anyway, smoothing his hands up to his back and pulling him down by the flat of the bone.

“Be with me,” he enunciates carefully. 

Hannibal inhales slowly, pupils dilating just the tiniest fraction. Will sees him lick his lips before he nods. "Of course."

“I thought you would die, for the first week or so,” Will murmurs.

"You did try to kill us," Hannibal murmurs. "But nothing could persuade me to leave this earth without you. You must know that by now."

Will knows. He can feel it in his chest like a lump of flaming lead.

"I'm glad, Hannibal."

Hannibal studies his face with a long, delicate look. “Yes, I know.”

Will kisses him again to keep him from looking any longer. He doesn’t want delicate. He never did. Hannibal's hand sliding firm down his belly is anything but. He skims the raised skin of the scar over Will's gut.

Will inhales deeply. His shiver isn’t delicate either, and Hannibal nips at his lower lip. If it’s meant to focus Will’s attention, it does the job. He grips at Hannibal's shoulders and tongues at his teeth in turn. Will has never been one for endless kissing - he’s too self-contained- but Hannibal has shattered all his walls. He's politely demanding as ever, and as ever, he savors taste above all else.

Will makes a soft noise when his mouth starts moving, brushing the underside of Will's jaw; his throat. He’s moving slowly, clearly savoring the taste and feel. Will can hardly breathe for the feeling of it.

He tips his head back for a moment, allowing himself to savor the rasp of Hannibal's stubble against his skin. There’s a lot of it - they’re both looking scruffy, hair grown out and faces unshaven. Will privately likes Hannibal like this: looking like what he is. Not the person suit, perfectly or imperfectly worn. Just the creature underneath. He shudders at the thought, arching up under Hannibal's grounding weight, frustrated and satisfied all at once. He lets his hands find Hannibal’s hair, soft under his fingers.

Hannibal sighs and kisses him again before he pulls back, sitting up to look Will over for a minute, and Will frowns. “Hannibal -“

"What can I do for you, Will?"

“Something. Just do something. What are you looking at?”

"I'm looking at you. I'm committing you to memory."

“Haven’t you already?”

"Not like this."

“You’ve kissed me before,” Will tells him, his own eyes watching firelight reflect in Hannibal’s.

He sees the maroon there flash as he gives Will a look of mild irritation. Perhaps he doesn't like to remember those desperate moments. The moments when one or the other of them could have slipped away. But who's Will kidding? This is Hannibal; it could only appeal to his sense of the dramatic.

Hannibal finally speaks again, voice soft. “Not like this.”

"With intent?" Will raises his eyebrows, letting a challenge seep into his tone. "Or did I imagine that?"

Hannibal seems to snarl minutely. “You did not.”

"Could have fooled me."

Hannibal spears a hand through his hair and kisses him again. He hisses a breath when Will wraps his thighs around his waist, towel falling open as he squeezes.

“Hannibal, enough.” His indignation fades when Hannibal slides down and smears his lips against the bared inside of his knee, fingers greedily sweeping down his inner thigh. Will jerks up into it. “Jesus.”

He feels Hannibal's teeth as his mouth follows the path his hand makes, and then he's inhaling against the join of his thigh and Will goes from warmed up to uncomfortably, fiercely aroused.

"Hannibal-"

“May I?” he murmurs.

"Oh god," what is he getting himself into? "yes, Jesus-"

Hannibal’s tongue drags down so, so slowly. Will stutters on a whine when Hannibal weighs his cock in his hand as he licks very deliberately over Will's sack.

“You’re enjoying this,” Will groans.

"Very much so," Hannibal promises, voice muffled, hot breath making Will arch. Then he takes Will’s balls into his mouth, velvety hot and terrifyingly tender.

"Haa- _shit!_ " He can't control his breathing, can't contain the pulse of heat that goes through his whole body at how good it feels to be so badly wanted. He knows he is from the feeling of fingers shaking against his thighs; from the way Hannibal's noises are further toward 'ravenous' than merely satisfied.

Will touches the fall of hair across his forehead. Hannibal's tongue curls and he spreads Will's thighs wider with his hands. Will feels them shake. He knows what Hannibal wants now.

" _Jesus,_ " he breathes, because any other words seem completely outside of his lexicon right now. He’s never - no one has ever - he swallows hard and throws an arm over his eyes just as Hannibal’s tongue finds his hole. Will burbles his name a few times, and squirms, and in seconds he's reduced to simply breathing. His skin is wet, Hannibal’s mouth is hot, and every nerve ending where they touch is alive and sparking.

Hannibal tips his head and sucks and Will has to bite his fist to keep from using every foul-mouthed word he knows. Hannibal presses rhythmically inside him with his tongue; he hasn’t even used his fingers yet. His nails are still gently scratching Will’s thighs. Will's jaw opens soundlessly for a moment, and then he moans hard against his knuckles.

"Hannibal..!"

The answering sound Hannibal makes vibrates against him and Will grapples for something to hold onto. Hannibal’s hair and his shirt collar are what his hands settle on. Hannibal's stubble scrapes delicate skin as he presses in closer and Will pants his shock into his own hand again, so hard by now that he aches; that he's dripping with it. Hannibal hasn’t touched him again since that first slow caress. Will wishes he'd remember he could now.

“Hannibal,” he begs shamelessly.

In answer, Hannibal twists his tongue into him in a way that makes Will wonder exactly how they've never done this before. They should have been doing this for weeks. For years. Hannibal specifically should have been doing whatever he's doing now.

“God,” he mumbles. Finally, Hannibal's hand curls back around him. Will bucks up into it. "Yes- Hannibal, please-"  
He stretches out under him. Hannibal hums and licks him until he's slick and soft as his hand starts to move in slow, massaging strokes.

“Hannibal,” Will repeats again, “what do you want?” Hannibal raises his head, and Will can't regret distracting him for the sight that greets him, Hannibal’s plump mouth flushed and wet and his hair in gorgeous disarray. His eyes are dilated, Will can tell even in the firelight.

"You, in whatever capacity you want me."

Will licks his lips. He pulls Hannibal up to him again and carefully flips them over. The way Hannibal watches him tells him he doesn’t mind at all.

"Still fascinated, Doctor?" he murmurs, leaning down to nip experimentally at the silver stubble on Hannibal's throat.

“Always, Will.”

In reward, Will slinks down between his thighs, mirroring their previous position, and takes him in hand. Stroking slowly, he gets lost for a moment watching his face. It’s as expressive as Will has ever seen him, drawn with tension and desire. He lets out his breaths between his teeth - and that's about as unrestrained as he's ever seen him. Will ducks his head and licks experimentally up the vein of his cock. It's been a while. The taste makes him moan softly.

Hannibal says his name, soft and surprised. Will glances up. He closes his mouth over the head and sucks gently, and he's treated to the dip of Hannibal’s eyelids. It's glimpse enough of how taken aback he is. Will intends to see more by the time this is over. He wants him shaken, enthralled. Wrecked. The thought makes him sigh as he tongues gently under the crown of his cock while he sucks. He’s hypnotized by the taste for a long time; by the harsh rhythm of Hannibal’s quickening breaths.

“Tell me you have lube,” Will mutters when he finally pulls off. He sees his mouth crook in a smile, though Hannibal still looks a little sorry to lose his mouth.

"I'm a doctor, Will."

Will sighs. “That doesn’t tell me where it is.”

"It's in the first aid."

"Of course it is." Hannibal’s expression when Will pushes off of him is worth the frustration. He looks bereft for a second. “I’ll come back,” Will growls softly.

"I'll find you if you don't." Hannibal’s face is a veil of violence over something very different. Will smiles despite himself.

"I'm counting on it." He’s not sure he could live otherwise. Not anymore.

He goes to retrieve the first aid kit from Hannibal's bag, rummaging out the promised tube and chucking the case back where he found it. When he turns back to the fire, Hannibal hasn’t moved a muscle. Will basks in the sight of him, bare and anything but vulnerable. “I see you,” he murmurs.

Hannibal bites his lip and nods. “What is it you see?”

"An animal," Will murmurs. But that’s not really right either, is it? He takes a step closer.

Hannibal hums. "Your animal."

“Not a tame one, though.” Will folds back down onto his knees.

"I wouldn't suggest I'm feral."

“No, you aren’t,” Will murmurs. He runs a hand up Hannibal’s thigh. "A tactical hunter," he decides, aloud.

“Ah,” Hannibal murmurs, shifting to reach for Will. He winds his fingers into his hair and tugs him into a kiss. Will draws both hands down his thighs to his hips, sighing in content. “What will you do next, my darling boy?”

Will shivers at the affection, choked by it. He leans down to whisper in Hannibal’s ear.

"I'm going to fuck you. Will that satisfy you, Hannibal?”

The answering breath is long, unsteady. His hand tightens fractionally in Will’s hair.

"If anything could."

Will closes his eyes.

“I hope it can,” he murmurs.

Hannibal strokes his cheek with his other hand. "You satisfy me daily, just the sight of you."

There it is again, that love with its tiny barbs. Will licks his lips.

"You've loved me for a long time, haven't you, Hannibal?"

Hannibal’s fingers squeeze again. “Why do you ask questions you know the answers to?”

"They're hiding real questions."

Hannibal meets his eyes and holds them silently for a moment. “Why do you insist on hiding anything from me?”

"I'm afraid of the answers, but I still want to know them."

Hannibal laughs softly, drawing him down for a kiss. “Still afraid?”

"It's the only sensible way to be with you."

“Do you wish for my fear as well?”

"I don't think it would do me any good." He knows what Hannibal has for him, and it’s worse than fear - it’s admiration. He kisses him fleetingly, then pulls back to open the lube. “Take the rest of your clothes off for me.”

Hannibal does, quick and neat. His expression has relaxed into something merely keen. Will rubs a hand up his stomach, over his chest, gentling. He’s touched Hannibal many times now. This is the first time he’s let himself enjoy it. Rough hair and corded muscle under his palms. The thud of Hannibal’s heartbeat, the heat of his skin. Will lays his cheek against his chest to hear it more clearly for a moment.

Hannibal inhales softly against the crown of his head. He lets him back up and shifts as Will refocuses, intent now as he slicks his fingers and sends them questing between Hannibal’s thighs. He shoulders his knee up over his bicep, and Hannibal's breath hitches as Will rubs and presses in gentle circles.

“Say something,” Will murmurs.

Hannibal wets his lips fleetingly. "You don't have to be gentle. I've done this before."

“But -“

“Do you want to be gentle?” Hannibal murmurs, sounding skeptical.

"I don't want to hurt you."

“You couldn’t.”

Will nods, and starts to press in more firmly. Hannibal’s flesh is tight and hot around him, yielding slowly. He arches, and Will works slowly, adding more lube and gentle pressure until he's two fingers deep and stroking slow. He curls his fingers and Hannibal makes a quiet, choked noise. Their eyes meet. Hannibal's reflect bright, sharp need and unnamable emotion.

“My Will,” he murmurs.

The words wrap around Will's heart and gently tug. He sighs and strokes his fingers a little deeper, working up to a third and continuing until it’s easy. "I'm here. You okay?"

“More than.” He reaches out and skims his fingers down Will’s chest. Will keeps stretching and stroking until Hannibal’s breath seizes, cock pulsing against his hip.

“Now,” he orders quietly.

"I'm not done-"

"Will." He doesn't fail to pick up the urgency this time.

Will nods, chest going tight with stoppered breath. "All right." He eases back. Hannibal sits up and takes over for a moment, slicking his hand and then Will's cock with quick movements. Will grits his teeth around a moan. He's spelled by Hannibal's neat desire, pulling Will in with his ankles hooked around his back as he shifts onto his back again.

"Come on-"

Will likes their hesitation as little as Hannibal, and so he complies. His hand slips down, guiding his cock against Hannibal, and then they're pressing together with twin exhales of exertion. Will’s eyes fall closed as he bites his lower lip. It's a hot, drawing pressure, unfairly good, but it's Hannibal's soft gasp that yanks cruelly at his gut. He wants. They want. So much, for so long.

Will bears forward, supporting his weight on his arms, and Hannibal arches his hips up off the floor and draws his knees high and wide. Will freezes when he bottoms out and Hannibal grasps for him.

"Will, please move." He cups his cheeks with hands so gentle it sets Will's teeth on edge.

 _Please._ Will knows he could never deny him. He rolls his hips back, and then eases forward again. He groans.

“You feel so good.”

Hannibal makes a little crooning noise in response, encouraging him with a nudge of his feet at his hips. Will looks down on his face hungrily. He picks up a rhythm, slow and steady and so close, and Hannibal’s arms bracket him, winding around his neck to keep him close, hands cradling his scalp.

Will bends to kiss him carefully. Their breath mingles together as they move their bodies in the crackling warmth. Eyes closing against the rising tide of sensation, Will turns his face into Hannibal's neck and snaps his hips faster; sucks gently at the stubble under Hannibal’s jaw until he urges a groan out of him, the sound buzzing under Will's lips. He sucks harder, finding the pulse under the skin until Hannibal grabs at his hair again and clutches tight.

“If this was you,” Will whispers, “Would you want to bite?”

"I am not a rabid dog," Hannibal mutters. Will flexes his hips, hard, to hear him swear. "Will- yes, I would-" he stutters on another groan and Will takes pity and gives him a few more long, smooth rocks of his hips until his face slacks again.

“I know,” Will smiles darkly.

"Miscreant," Hannibal mutters. The softest flick of his tongue at the base of his throat.

“Yes.” He's burning with heat, from Hannibal's skin, from the fire and the need inside him. He tastes salt on Hannibal's skin too, and Hannibal’s hands stay speared tight through his curls.

Will speeds up, and Hannibal groans again, rough and low this time, like Will has struck the right note in him. Will takes a deep breath and meets his eyes. He's captivating like this, skin glowing and his eyes blown almost black in the firelight. The planes of his face are golden, remorseless. Will moves faster still, and when Hannibal cranes his chin, Will obliges him with kisses. Long, drugging ones, saying things Will could never express. Hannibal is frustratingly, enduringly gracious, accepting everything Will gives him. Facetiously, Will slows again, leaning up on his arms to look down their bodies.

“You’re being very good,” he hums.

"Would you prefer me to misbehave, so you might punish me, Will?"

It’s hard to catch his breath. "I don't know that any punishment I thought up wouldn't affect us both."

Hannibal’s teeth find his jaw. “Conjoined.”

"Symbiotic," Will mutters.

“Just so.”

He licks the skin he’s just bitten, making Will sigh and shift, another little groan escaping Hannibal at the angle. Experimentally, Will drives down to stroke against his prostate. He gets his hands against the undersides of his knees; puts his weight into it. Hannibal's response is entirely too gratifying, his head tipping back and jaw slacking on an honest-to-god moan.

“Hannibal,” it’s forced out of him, the want in him choking him relentlessly, making him brutal.

"Keep going- as hard as you want, Will."

Vision filling with spots, he does. It's too easy to take what he wants; to unknowingly show Hannibal all the ways he's craved him, deep and vicious need driving him harder into his body. He lets it show on his face, in the flash of his teeth. Hannibal moans in his throat, clenching down, cock heavy and glistening against his belly.

“Touch yourself,” Will growls in his ear.

"Not yet. I want to watch you."

Of course he does. Will holds back a moan.

"Show me, Will. Use me, mean it." He's touching him again, body bowed up around him, voice rough and low. Will wasn’t waiting for permission, but he feels himself responding to the underlying order, seating himself more securely on his knees and grips at Hannibal's hips. He knows his hands are tight, he might be leaving marks, and he can’t care. He just thrusts forward, gripping Hannibal where he wants him, keeping his thrusts slow.

He follows his own rhythm, his own need, eyes tight shut. He can hear his own vocalizations, urgent, unfamiliar, but there’s no room for shame in the rushing tide of sensation.

"Fuck," he hisses, a fresh wave of heat flooding him, "oh _fuck!_ "

Dimly, from what seems like far away, he hears Hannibal make a noise of his own. He murmurs his name, over and over, hands smoothing down Will's chest. Will feels himself start to shake, breath skipping as his orgasm hits him head on.

He collapses down onto Hannibal, hiding his face in his throat as it racks him, clutching at his skin. Hannibal’s hands are obscenely gentle through it all, stroking Will's hair as he steadies against him, still buried deep and unwilling as of yet to change the fact.

Unbidden, Will swallows a knot of feeling in his throat. It truly is symbiosis. Knowing Hannibal surrounds him, he feels sated. His eyes are hot. He could have had this all along. It would have been different, but it would have been more, for longer. He is greedy, he finds. Hannibal gave him that greed; cultivated it where Will had locked it away. He wonders if he’s grateful for it now.

"Will..." Hannibal wipes at his eyes with his thumbs gently. "Will."

“Hann-” his voice breaks.

Hannibal kisses him, gentle and commanding. He kisses the corners of Will’s wet eyes, nosing at his lashes, still until Will kisses him again in silent promise: _I’m okay._

He rolls them over, so that Hannibal straddling Will’s hips as he stretches bonelessly on the carpet.

"You now," Will mumbles.

“Yes, love. All you have to do is watch.”

Will can do that. Hannibal takes himself in hand and strokes, tendons in his forearm flexing with the movement. Watching his skin slide is hypnotic and mouth-watering. Will cups his hips with shaky hands. When he licks his lips for the third time, he sees Hannibal watching and colors.

"You look so good," he says weakly. Then he bites his lip. “Let me taste?”

Hannibal shivers, arching his chin forward like he's leashing his self control.

"Whatever you like."

Will grasps his hips and urges him forward. His thighs caging him feel somehow familiar. Will strokes up them as he draws his head up to touch his tongue to the velvet of Hannibal’s foreskin, stretched back to reveal the shining pink head of his cock. They both sigh in unison and Hannibal touches his hair as Will closes his mouth over him and thumbs at his hips. He sucks gently, just at the crown, lips soft. The taste is enough to send him reeling, intimately, frighteningly Hannibal, sharp and complex.

By taste and feel alone, Will knows he’s close. He wraps a hand around what he won't fit in his mouth and starts to stroke as he sucks him in earnest. Hannibal’s fingers skim over his cheeks and temples.

"Will..." it's almost a prayer, soft and reverent.

He hums in answer, urging him forward. Hannibal puts a hand on the ground, craning over him, easing his hips forward carefully. He gasps when Will twists his hand and tongues over the slit before taking him deep again. He's big, jaw-achingly so, but it's satisfying to be on the brink of choking on him; entirely appropriate, considering everything else Hannibal has shoved into him in the past. He wants this, though- he asked for this.

He savors that desire, whirling his tongue slowly between long, repetitive sucks. Hannibal groans his name again. “Close.”

He's flooding precome already, bittersharp on the back of Will's tongue. He swallows greedily and squeezes his fingers tight. Hannibal’s hips stutter and he falls forward while Will holds onto him and sucks desperately. He feels the muscles in Hannibal’s stomach pull tight as he comes with a shivering cry, his release spilling from the corners of Will's mouth as he swallows it down desperately. Above him, Hannibal draws a great lungful of air, fingers tightening.

It takes Will a few seconds to gather himself. Eventually, Hannibal eases back, and Will just lies where he is, panting and feeling the aches in his body. Hannibal kisses his mouth, tongue teasing for a taste. Will can’t even be surprised. He lets him lick the wet from his chin and cheeks, sighing at the cunning sweep of his tongue against his own on another kiss. He’s sharply aware of everywhere their bodies touch, and of little else.

Hannibal lies against him, their legs twining, and Will sighs at the ceiling when he settles. He feels replete. "So,” he says, when he can breathe again, “you don't mind the cabin so much?"

Hannibal laughs softly. “Was this your way of convincing me?”

"No-" Will laughs, suddenly self-conscious, "it's not that it's- if you really hate it, we'll start looking for somewhere else."

Hannibal curls a hand through his hair. “That will not be necessary.”

"All right." Will closes his eyes, thinks about it, and nods again. "All right." It's warm here by the fire, twined in Hannibal's arms. He's still thinking of being buried inside his body. "Of all the ways we've marked each other," he says eventually, "this is my favorite."

He’s not sure if Hannibal will agree, or even if he needs him to. His answering silence is considering. "I certainly find it just as meaningful," he allows eventually. At Will’s amused huff, he shifts to tip their foreheads together.

"All the proof I need that we deserve each other." Will kisses Hannibal’s cheek and back down to his mouth, holding him still for another moment before getting up to find a washcloth.

They clean up in amicable silence. After they’ve collected their clothing, they curl up quietly on the sofa. It's late, and Will is tired, but sleep feels far away. Silent closeness, though, is both familiar and necessary.

"We touch a lot," Will muses aloud. "We always did."

“I always did,” Hannibal corrects. “You didn’t like it.”

Will thinks for a long moment, then looks at him sidelong. "I liked it when you were comforting me. Sometimes you weren't." His fingers find the scar across his abdomen. Hannibal covers them with his own hand.

"Sometimes I did not think you deserved my comfort."

“Sometimes I didn’t.” Will tucks his face in Hannibal’s neck.

Hannibal strokes his hair. "I can't pretend I did either."

Will wants to laugh. "No shit," he mumbles.

Hannibal tugs lightly at a curl and gently kisses under Will's ear. “I think you do, now.”

Will smiles a bit at that. "Even though I threw us off a cliff?"

“Yes,” Hannibal murmurs. He hides another kiss in his hairline; cups his nape with his palm like he’s hiding a secret against his chest. Will closes his eyes, and finally feels them reluctant to open again.

"Want to sleep?"

“I believe I could, yes. Should we feed the fire before we go up?”

"Sure." Will stretches up. He tends to the fire while Hannibal cleans up in the little washroom, and then he takes his turn while Hannibal navigates his way up to the 'bedroom': a double mattress on a precarious wooden frame, piled high with throws and duvets. Neither of them falls down the staircase.

Will allows himself a smug little smile at the way Hannibal burrows into the bedclothes: Will at least had it kitted out as best as circumstance permitted. He climbs in after him and huffs in surprise when he's pulled back against Hannibal's chest immediately: usually they end up that way, but don’t start there.

"Never took you for a cuddler before now," he mutters. He can feel Hannibal’s ripple of irritation but he ignores it.

"And you call me insufferable," is all he manages in return.

“Nearly daily; I’m starting to think you enjoy it.”

"I enjoy you in every capacity, Will."

Will knows that’s true. He sighs into the dark, listening to the crackle of the fire below. “I told you once that I tolerated you,” he whispers.

"I knew you didn't mean me personally," Hannibal says simply.

“It would have been a lie, anyway. I always craved more of you.”

Hannibal's breath hitches against his back. “Craved,” he repeats, sounding amused yet moved.

Will sighs softly and nods. "That's how it felt."

Hannibal’s lips brush the back of his neck. "I'm glad." A soft kiss to his nape, a slow exhale. “And you crave me still.” It’s not a question.

"I don't think it's the kind of thing that fizzles out. I feel like I've barely gotten started."

“We have,” Hannibal murmurs, sounding sleepy and slow.

Will closes his eyes and drifts to the sounds of his breaths, as familiar now as his own. He still craves - always the start, and never the finish. He wonders where their mutual craving will lead them next. He’s certain it won’t end here, in this cabin. He doesn't think either of them would let it. Hannibal’s arms, tight even in sleep, tell him he’s right.


End file.
